Petals and Thorns
by SlickCiggy
Summary: Post Origins, Pre-Awakening. F!Elven mage, turned Dalish keeper, is reunited with a now King Alistair. Pretty much, if Alistair dumped you after the landsmeet, this is for you. Rated  M  for later chapters. Enjoy!
1. Ch1: Duty Calls

_**Title: **_Petals and Thorns

_**Genre: **_Adventure and Romance…sort of.

_**Timeline: **_Post Origins, Pre-Awakening (And we'll all just pretend DA2 didn't happen.)

_**Author's Note: **_Okay, so because this is a RPG game and a kick ass one at that, I have provided you lovelies with all the information you will need to understand the setup of this fan-fic. I'm not sure how long this fic will be or if I'll ever really do anything with what I've already posted. I think it will depend on the response I get from the readers, i.e. you kind people. Oh, and I'll definitely be open to ideas about how to keep it going. I realize that there are lot of cool mods and what not available for PC users that aren't available for console users (you lucky, bastards) so I might be open to do doing various spin-offs to scenes and events that occurred during those mods. Idk, it remains to be seen…

_**Introduction, Epilogue and Other Pertinent Information**_: When Duncan recruited the elven mage from the tower after blood-mage, Jowan's attempt at escape; he couldn't have known what an impact she would have on the world as they all knew it. Through her compassion and wisdom, the blight was thwarted before it had truly even begun.

The events after the blight are as follow:

(_**Pay attention, for I veered from the game's defaults **__**for the sake of plot and mercy on my poor fangirl soul.**__**)**_

After Logain was executed in the lands-meet, the warden decided it was best if Alistair took the throne in spite of his insistence he did not truly wish for the throne. Alistair finally capitulated and it was decided that Queen Anora would be removed to the tower. However, Alistair's acceptance of the throne would come at the cost of the romantic relationship between the Warden and himself. He sighted his reasons for terminating the relationship had more to do with the taint in both their bodies, though the warden suspected her elven heritage might have something to do with it as well. Their relationship thus ended.

Hours before the battle, both wardens were informed that it was possible one of them would have to be sacrificed in order to stem the blight; however Morrigan offered a strange alternative. The alterative involved a sexual ritual between Alistair and herself, during which a child would be conceived. Alistair resisted at first, but the warden managed to convince him to undergo the ritual (with the help of the maximization of her coercion skill. )

And thus, the warden dealt the final blow, and the arch-demon was slain. True to Morrigan's word, both wardens were spared. After the battle, Alistair would relent on his decision to end his relationship with the warden and ask her to remain at court as his mistress. The warden would decline this offer. And instead she would go on to travel for a time, sometimes in the company of her companions: Wynne, Shale, Sten, Lelianna, Ogrehen and Zeveran. Eventually, the warden would join the Dalish and become one of the people's most respected keepers.

In time Alistair would grant Queen Anora freedom, and somehow the two would eventually broker a friendship; a friendship that would one day lead in their betrothal, and then marriage. Alistair would spend a great deal of time at court, showing willingness to learn the art of governing, and ruling fairly. He would prove quite popular, with his humor and grace winning them over as much as his willingness to sneak out of the castle and mingle in the lower-class taverns. And thus, our story beings here…

(For further notes on the different outcomes of the kingdoms, individual moral quests please see the bottom of the chapter. Though, most of those should be touched one during this first chapter as it will kind of set the scene for the rest of this story…I think. Let me know, if there are any questions.)

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><p><em><strong>Chapter One: Duty Calls<strong>_

Boys would be boys. And so would most middle-aged men.

Neria ignored the leering glances of the palace guards as she was led to the guest room. Her glance roved from wall to wall and she fought the uneasy feeling creeping over her as they walked past the rows of stone. She wrinkled her brow as her bare feet traveled over the plush deep red carpet. The Gods only knew how she had come to hate walls. She wondered if the observation was just further evidence on how deeply she'd come to admire the Dalish over the past two years.

During her time spent at the circle, training to become a magister, she had never minded the walls. She'd never had reason to. While others, mainly her dear friend Jowan, had resented the walls of the tower, she'd been content to allow them to shield her. For as much as the Templars sought to limit mage influence amongst the general population, she'd always been grateful for the protection the fortification had provided against mage-hating fanatics.

For the maker's sake, she was, a woman, an elf and a mage. She couldn't possibly be in a better position for stone throwing. Though, being the Hero of Ferelden had since taken the edge off the bulk of the usual hushed murmurs and scathing looks from the people who considered themselves her betters. A guard sounded a low whistle behind her back as the elven maid guiding her to her chambers bent to collect a stray scrap of paper, and Neria rolled her eyes. For all of her accomplishments, being a woman in a world full of idiotic men was a fate she'd never escape.

A blush touched the maiden's cheeks as she straightened and stepped to the side of the large ornate door. "Your chamber's…?" The girl fell silent and lowered her eyes, her forehead creasing in obvious confusion. "Pardon me; I'm not sure how I should refer to you."

A tick of anger flared within Neria at the girl's quickness to bend-knee, but she tamped down her frustration with her people's place in the world and tried for calm. This girl didn't know any better; she was only conducting herself as she'd be taught to. Neria sent a silent prayer to the Gods of old that perhaps the elven people might be able to see some measure of peace and freedom from oppression soon, if not during her life time. She caught the girl's gaze, offering a small smile. "You may refer to me as Keeper."

The girl smiled warmly. "Thank you, Keeper. Is there anything else I can do for you while you await his majesty's summons?"

"No, that is all." Neria ignored the way her stomach twisted at the mention of Alistair as she reached for the door. "You may return to your duties or otherwise retire for the evening."

"Are you sure, Keeper? I was instructed to wait on you to the best of my ability during your stay here at the palace."

"I assure you, dalen, if I can slay an arch-demon, I can manage to unpack my things myself." She responded warmly as she opened the door to her rooms.

Without further hesitation, the girl nodded and Neria couldn't help but watch as she departed down the row of guardsmen posted just outside of her rooms. She wasn't sure if this merely an extra precaution the Capitan of the Guard had taken because of her elevated status or if the palace was normally this heavily guarded. If it was a result of the former, it would be interesting to find out just what had prompted such a response. She would have to ask Shianni during their meeting tomorrow. The maid paused before the last guard on the left, the one Neria suspected had whistled earlier and she was surprised to see the young woman hand him the scrap of paper as she gifted a shy smile.

Even more surprising, the guard betrayed his desire for her with a hot look and a somewhat devilish smile. Neria couldn't help the smile that twitched at the corner of her mouth. If their apparent affection for one another was any indication, perhaps the elven people had fared better since the last time she'd been in Denerim. She hoped so. The subtle display of affection between the two brought mind another similar couple, and Neria's heart ached. She turned away and retreated into her rooms, closing the door behind herself.

She leaned against the door, sucking in a deep breath as her eyes wandered over the lavish accommodations. The large room was crowded with ornate furniture, a large hearth and a huge canopied bed. Neria slanted a glance toward the windows, to the forests that lay beyond the city. Alistair knew better or at least she'd hoped he hadn't forgotten her aversion to such finery. She was most at home in that shabby little camp, around a large fire, surrounded by the companions who had become her family. This, this decadence, felt like a prison. The weight of dread she'd felt since she'd walked into Denerim thickened and her hand wandered to her throat as though she could physically rips its grip off.

When she'd left the city two years ago, she'd known then that she never wanted to return. She never wanted to see him or this wretched city again. So much death, so much heartache haunted the very foundation of this city and she'd rather spend her time amongst the trees. At least in the wild, there was hope for a new beginning. Nature had a way of cleansing even the worst of man-kinds sins.

Moonlight spilled in through the windows, and along with the few candles that had been lit, it should've been enough light. It wasn't. Neria drew from her connection to the fade and waved her hand toward the hearth. A fire leapt up from the wood, and she eased with the additional light and warmth. Though this summer's nights had proven to be warm enough, she was still an elf and couldn't abide the chill of the stone surrounding her. Not to mention, she despised the dark.

_Some great warden I am. _Neria smirked and laid her elegant ironbark staff against the wall, and wandered toward the fire. She'd always hated the dark. The trek through the deep roads in search of Branka, one of Orzammar's so-called paragons, had all but convinced her that the darkness itself was out to eat her, regardless of the dark spawn.

The only time she'd ever felt safe in the darkness had been when…

Neria's throat worked as her pride flared, in a desperate attempt to battle the onslaught of pain such memories brought up. He didn't deserve to occupy her thoughts. Not anymore. Alistair had ceased to be her concern once the arch-demon had been slain and the blight thwarted. She folded her arms as she gazed into the flickering flames.

"_You know, Neria, you could always stay…with me. As my mistress. I don't think anyone would really question a king having a mistress. Happens all the time." _The memory bloomed in her mind unbidden and she dung her nails into her arms as anger roared to life within her. How dare he? She would not be his elven whore, not after he'd been so quick to dismiss her plea to marry him and become a proper wife. It didn't matter anymore. Her leaving Denerim had been the best thing to happen to her. She'd become one of the people, she'd found her place as a keeper. And she'd accomplished so much since then. And if she had anything to do with it, the elven people would have a land of their own before she drew her final breath.

Neria shielded herself from the brunt of the pain swelling inside her and turned her gaze toward the door. She didn't know when or how she'd become so sensitive to footsteps or just the barest of movement, but it was almost impossible to sneak up on her anymore.

Someone knocked on the door and Neria cast her gaze to the fire, speaking softly. "Enter."

The door swung open, revealing a guardsman. He tipped his head respectfully. "Pardon the interruption, but King Alistair will see you know."

Neria recognized the guardsman from earlier and a bitter-amusement swarmed her. She regarded him coolly. "Do you know who I am, guardsman?"

He lifted his gaze, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Everyone knows who you are."

"Then it safe to assume that you know I landed the final blow against the arch-demon, I suppose?"

The guardsmen eyed her with a carefully masked suspicion. "It is? May I ask why you would ask me such a question?"

"I only mention it so that you are well aware of what you will be facing should you hurt that young woman."

The guardsman tensed, lifted his chin slightly. "You know nothing of me and Mya."

Neria sighed and wandered over to where she'd propped up her staff. "No, I dare say I do not. But I do know something of forbidden love." She came to stand before him, tipping her head to gaze up into his hardened expression. She noted the glimmer of challenge and the affection he so obviously had for the young woman. It warmed her, even as it saddened her. "Tread carefully, guardsman. Love is a precious and terrible thing."

Tension rippled off of him, but he seemed to grasp her meaning and offered her a somewhat impish smile. "I'm not afraid."

_Neither were we_. Neria recognized his carefree humor and she sealed the memoires trying to tunnel their way to the surface behind the years of discipline she'd managed. Instead, she offered a curt nod and motioned toward the door. "Then shall we."

The guardsman stepped to the side and she started down the hall. And so it would seem her and the once Templar would meet again after nearly two years. If she had to face the man who'd broken her heart, she would do so as the warrior and respected advisor the whole of Thedas regarded her as. Alistair was no different than any other king. Hell, she'd damn near placed him on the throne, along with a few others who now counted themselves as royalty. Gods give her strength.

The majestic throne room hadn't changed at all since the last time she'd stood in it. The plush carpets warmed the room and the shinning candelabras cast a glowing light on the golden thrones elevated in the fair back. She glanced up at the balcony as she wandered down the aisle. So many fates had been decided in this room. She paused, standing in the same spot as Logain had as he drew his final breaths. She took a few steps, and found herself in the place she'd been when she'd decided Alistair's fate, and by association, her own. If she'd chosen to hand the crown to Anora, perhaps things might have been different. Perhaps, things would've ended similar to way she'd once allowed herself to dream. Her and Alistair against the world.

She shook her head, even back then she'd known Alistair was destined to be great king. In addition, by then she'd learned to trust her gut and nothing about Anora's conduct thus far had given her any reason to believe she would be a fair and just queen. The woman had seemed extremely cut throat. Neria wondered if that was a just appraisal of the woman's character or if it was simply left over resentment from Anora's betrayal back when she'd rescued her from Howe's fortress. In Neria's defense, the woman had all but screamed at the top of her lungs that she and her companions had attempted to kidnap her.

Anora should count herself lucky. Had she not have fled during the ensuing battle between Neria and Logain's supporter, Neria might have killed the lying louse right then and there in her rage. It was one thing to put her in danger; it was another matter to think her friend's lives so expendable.

"Greetings, Warden."

Neria grit her teeth. _Speak of the devil_. Schooling her expression, she tightened her grip on her staff and turned toward the voice. Anora was clad in pale silk gown, a thin circlet adorning her brow. She stood, poised with all the grace of a woman who'd grown accustomed to commanding respect just by her presence. She would receive no such blind submission from Neria. Not now. Not ever. When Neria had heard of Anora's release from the tower, and her subsequent marriage to Alistair, she'd been torn between intense jealously and shrewd admiration of the woman's ability to manipulate Merric's sons.

Neria tipped her chin slightly, but kept her eyes firmly fixated on the queen. "And to you, your grace."

Though it irked her to show Anora any respect, she had not gotten as far as she had by swimming against the current. Well, that is, she hadn't gotten this far by doing so without having a few crafty manipulations of her own up her sleeve.

The queen laced her fingers together and regarded her coolly. "I hope you fared well during your travels. Denerim is certainly honored by your presence."

"I did, thank you." Neria offered a tight smile as she straightened.

The candlelight illuminated the circlet resting against Anora's forehead, highlighting her sandy blonde hair. Her sharp bright eyes studied the staff caught in Neria's grasp as well as her Dalish garbs. "Indeed, it seems you have done well for yourself since the last time we met."

On a whim Neria wondered just how much Alistair had told Anora of their relationship, but dismissed the question as an irrelevant one. It didn't matter. Anora had won in the end. All the twit needed to do now was bear Alistair an heir, and she'd officially weasel her way into sainthood. They'd probably erect a statue of her…somewhere. "It seems fortune has also smiled upon you, your grace." Neria remarked dryly.

Anora's gaze sharpened as she registered the subtle slight, her lush mouth tilting ever so slightly. "After you've spoken with my husband, I would ask that you seek me out. I would like to speak with you privately."

"Of course, I would be happy to seek you out at a later time if there are too many witnesses for your liking at present. " Neria spoke in an even, most diplomatic tone, satisfied with her show wit.

The guardsmen who had escorted her to the throne room coughed, though the interruption sounded more like an attempt to cover up a burst of laughter. Neria resisted the urge to smile, even as her better sense told her not to provoke the queen. After all, as Arl Eamon had once stated himself, this particular woman would always been either a powerful alley or a horrible enemy. And to tell the truth, Neria had no desire to incur the wrath of yet another. She had enough people who wanted her dead as it was.

"In any case, 'tis late and I should like to retire." She lifted a manicured brow. "Perhaps, we will speak more tomorrow…?"

Neria titled her head in acknowledgment, not trusting herself to speak. Anora accepted the gesture and turned, elegantly floating toward one of the side doors. The sound of the heavy door swinging closed down behind her echoed through the room and Neria couldn't help but glance down at her clothes. The knee-length, pale green robes had been tailored just for her, and amongst the Dalish she had felt very fine. Anora had made her feel like the opposite. She reached down and fiddled with the gold griddle. She wrinkled her nose at the way the gold bands on her ankles seemed to draw even more attention to the fact that her feet were filthy. Perhaps, she should pick up a pair of boots on tomorrow on her way to speak with Shianni.

Rolling her eyes, she let out an exasperated sigh. What the hell did she care how she looked in comparison to Anora? Anora had never wielded anything but her tongue. Neria was a battle mage, renowned throughout Thedas. Who cared if her feet were dirty? She instinctively reached for the vile of blood, hanging between her breasts and squeezed the amulet. She was a Grey Warden and that alone made her better than that twit. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to convince herself even as she knew she'd probably never be able to.

"If I may be so bold," the guardsman spoke quietly, "I think you're lovely."

Despite how inappropriate his comment had been, Neria couldn't help but smile. She turned toward the guard who'd posted himself next the throne. A smile was fitted on his handsome mouth and she arched a brow. "Remember what we talked about earlier, guardsman."

He winked and she narrowed her eyes, wondering if it was some kind of conspiracy. Handsome men with quick tongues and devilish smiles would surely be the end of her.

"Neria?" The unmistakable timbre of Alistair's voice reached her ears like a whisper from the Fade.

For that single moment, when her name rolled off of his lips every bone in her body relaxed. Before the exhaustion of loneliness could consume her, she remembered her place. She was a powerful Grey Warden and he a king. That was all. Neria straightened and renewed her resolve as she turned and stood before Alistair.

If the cost of looking had been blindness, she still would've dared a look. Alistair hadn't changed at all. His hair was still cut the same way. His clean shaven jaw tensed as he swallowed hard. She traced the lines of his neck, admiring the flesh peaking between the slight 'v' collar of his dark blue tunic. Blue always did suit him. Her eyes drifted down his chest to the silver sash tied around his hips, down the muscular thighs straining against his brown, form fitting trousers, and finally resting on his fine dark leather boots. From the looks of them, they were Antivan leather. A gift from Zeveran perhaps?

His gray eyes studied her with just as much attention to detail and her skin warmed, and she almost forgot who they'd become, the events that shaped them over the last couple years. For a moment, she almost let herself feel the way she had back when he'd gifted her hot looks from across the camp fire. Back then everything had seemed so simple even as they regularly complicated themselves. But things were different now and she had to remember that if she was going to keep her head and heart clear of this meeting.

Going rigid, she met his gray eyes and took a knee before him. "Your majesty." She lowered her head, ignoring the stale taste the words left in her mouth.

Alistair froze as if he'd been struck, but recovered quickly enough to paste a sheepish grin on his face. "Your Warden-ess."

Neria's grip on her staff tightened, but she kept her expression neutral as she stood. "Shall we discuss your summons?"

Alistair's bright eyes seemed to darken as he swept them over her. Neria resisted the urge to shift beneath his scrutiny and instead lifted her chin, arching her brow slightly as if she dared him to crack another ridiculous joke. There was no warmth, no friendship to be had between them and she would not give him reason to assume she'd forgiven him. Not that he'd ever asked to be forgiven. If anything, he'd met her attempt to discuss what had happened between them with a rushed dismissal. Neria hardened her gaze as Alistair crossed the distance of the throne room to stand before her.

"How are you?" He asked quietly, his gaze searching her expression.

"Alive and well as you can no doubt see." Neria answered quickly, straightening even further in attempt to ward off the heat emanating from his body.

"When I heard you'd joined the Dalish, I couldn't believe it. I always figured you would stay here in Denerim and participate in some of the changes you help bring about." He remarked cordially. "Shianni has done much for the elves here."

"Shianni is a wise and strong woman. The elven people could not have a better spokesperson for their cause."

They stood in silence. Alistair gazing down upon her as she looked up at him. A part of her wanted to look away. Alistair had always seemed like the sun to her. So bright. So beautiful. And at times too much for her eyes to bear. Even now, his energy and his warmth seeped into her bones and threatened to undermine the strength she so desperately needed. She did not enjoy being bitter, she didn't enjoy the gnarled pain surrounding her heart, and she wise enough to know that what happened couldn't have happened any other way. She was always telling her people that though they could choose their paths, they were just as powerless when it came to how those paths would unwind. And yet, she just couldn't surrender. She couldn't let the pain of his betrayal go. She just couldn't. Maybe because it was all she had as selfish and ungrateful as it sounded.

Finally, Alistair let out a breath of air. "You're not happy to see me, are you?"

"No." She titled her head, "Now, I should like to discuss why you ordered a company of soldiers to track me down."

"Neria, I…" Alistair fell quiet, a shadow passed over his expression.

"Your majesty," Neria took some comfort in the fact that this meeting seemed to be just as awkward and painful for him as it was for her, "there are those who depend on my presence. I am a keeper now and I do not want to spend any more time than necessary away from them. If there is nothing else, I should like to be dismissed. I would ask that you work out your thoughts before you summon me again," she paused and sucked in a steadying breath, "or next time I shall not allow myself to be so easily found."

"Maker's breath, Neria," Alistair sighed heavily, "you're not exactly making this easy on me."

"With all due respect, your majesty, it is not my place to make anything easy on you." Neria snapped, her grip tightening around her staff. "I don't owe you anything." With that, Neria spun on her heel, cursing herself for even bothering to come.

A painfully familiar hand closed around her arm, halting her. "Please…don't go."

A shock of awareness jolted down her spine and flashes of the nights they'd spent entwined in her tent, beneath the stars, assaulted her. Anger rose up from the depth of her heart to greet the unwanted memories and she wrenched her arm from his grasp as though his mere touch had scorched her. "I beg your pardon, your majesty, but I must ask you to refrain from touching me."

No, she would never be so foolish again. It was not as though she bared any ill will toward Alistair, she had not become so bitter as to wish for any misfortune upon him, but she would never count him amongst her friends. And he would never lay hands upon her again.

The air vibrated with tension and she could feel his gaze bearing into her spine. She half expected him to back down, to apologize stupidly and allow her to leave. That is the Alistair she knew. Or at least, that was the Alistair she needed him to be right now. Her control on her emotions was straining. And she did not wish to shame the many people who have commended her for her show of mercy, compassion and diplomacy over the last years. She would not let this man, if any man, drive her to dishonoring their praise. She would be better than this.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, your majesty." Neria barely managed two steps before Alistair's voice sliced through the room.

"You're to accompany me and my men to Amaranthine, to greet the wardens who have come to aid in dealing with the remaining pockets of darkspawn threatening Ferelden." His voice was uncharacteristically hard, and for a moment she was overcome with disbelief. The Alistair she knew would never speak to her in such a way. But then, he'd proven a long time ago that she didn't and had never really known him.

Though every bone in her body cried out in protest, Neria gritted her teeth and tried for calm even as anger urged the flame of magic with in her. She could burn him to a crisp with a thought. And it was a tempting one. "And what of my clan? Am I to leave them without guidance simply because you command me to do so? You may be King of Ferelden, but you are no more my master than any other shemlen." Her voice was venomous and though she truly despised the word, she found herself reveling in the satisfaction that its use had further alienated her from the man she'd once called "love."

"Regardless, I am king and you are still a Grey Warden. It is your duty." He spoke softly. "I know I can no more force you to do this than the chantry could convince me of their justifications for the cruelty they condoned against mages. But do this for me…for Ferelden, Neria, and I will grant the Dalish lands of their own as a just reward."

Rage sung to live beneath her skin. How dare he blackmail her with the fate of her people? Now even if she wanted to run him through with a shard of ice, she couldn't. She could never live with herself if she refused this opportunity to give her people a home at last. And he well knew it.

"Damn you." She whispered and squeezed her eyes shut. Gods give her strength.

"You can hardly blame me." His words were just as soft as hers had been.

Gathering every molecule of control she could, Neria forced her tone even and tipped her head in acknowledgement. "Very well, your maj-."

"Alistair. My name, as you well know, is Alistair."

Regardless of the rage steaming within her, she took comfort in the state of her composure. "Yes, I do know." With that, she fled the throne room, eager to rid herself of the urge to speak his name. She didn't trust herself not to like the way it tasted on her tongue. And she had no intention of flirting with heartbreak again. Darkspawn, maybe. Another arch-demon, perhaps. But never again with love.

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><p><em><strong>Other note(s): <strong>_

Shianni: She is the red-headed elf in the Denerim alienage. She is the one who was suspicious of the so-called "magical cure" from the plague, offered by the tevinter mages, i.e. slavers.

Logain: In this story, Logain was slain by the warden, not Alistair during the landsmeet.

_**Author's Note:**_ So what did we think? Yay? Nay? Should I continue it?


	2. Ch2: Sweet Dreams

_**Author's Notes:**_ So…it seems there are those (mainly Judy—Hi Judy!) who would like to see the warden end up with someone else other than Alistair. I must admit, though I adore Alistair, when he did that to me (in the game) I could've cried…and skewered him all at the same time. *sniff* Anyways, I was toying with the notion and I think it would interesting to bring back Cullen. For those us who don't remember, Cullen was the Templar from the circle who was secretly in love with our mage. I once watched a mod where the mage and he share a passionate, forbidden kiss and I about keeled over. Bioware should've definitely done more with his character. Hmm…I can't make any promises, but I promise Alistair isn't going to get off that easily…if he gets off at all. Anyways, it is too early to tell…but I do appreciate the input. Alas, let us pick up where we left off…

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Two: Sweet Dreams<strong>_

"I presume that could have gone worse?" Eamon, the once Arl of Redcliff, and now Alistair's most trusted advisor as well as acting chancellor of Ferelden appeared at Alistair's back. It used to be that Eamon's rather stealthy approaches used to startle him. Any more, Alistair had come to expect the man's presence anytime something was amiss. It was like he could smell an opportunity to bear witness to yet another one of his adopted son's downfalls. It was part of his charm.

"Perish the thought," Alistair smirked, "that went as well as it could of. I was sure I'd end up with my hair on fire."

"If you say so, Alistair." Eamon remarked, his voice light the amusement the elderly so often displayed toward youth.

It often annoyed Alistair. If the elderly knew so damn much, why were they intent on letting the young fuck up their lives? He sighed. _Maybe because we never listen_. He turned toward his most trusted advisor and resisted the urge to ask him yet again why anyone thought he was a worthy king. It went without saying that he'd never wanted the crown. Actually, he'd never really thought past ending the blight. Back then, it hadn't seemed…right…to think about a life afterwards, especially when none of them had been sure they would live to see the end of the year.

Alistair shook his head as if to clear it. "In any case, she has agreed. That is all that matters."

"Is it?" Eamon lifted a bushy grey brow, his old eyes glittering.

Alistair tensed as he lifted his gaze from his boots, a rare flare of anger burning his thoughts to a crisp. "Speak your meaning."

Eamon clasped his hands behind his back and spoke evenly. "I only wonder if it wise for you and the warden to work so closely together. There is obviously much that remains…unfinished between the two of you."

Alistair's jaw clenched as his heart shuddered at the memories Eamon's words brought forth. "There is nothing between Neria and I." He let out a resigned breath as he realized just how true the statement was. "Her presence is needed." Wandering toward the throne, he plopped down on the cushion with all the grace of a drunkard.

Exhaustion tunneled through his body and mind and he rubbed his temples. What he wouldn't give for the good 'ole days when his idiotic choices affected no one but himself. "If we are to rebuild the order here in Ferelden, she must be a part of it. She commands the respect of the nobles and the love of the people. There are still those who tense at the thought of establishing the wardens as a power. Ferelden needs its wardens. I will not let the fate of this kingdom fall rest of the wisdom of just one or two people again. I will not risk it."

"Yes, I understand all of this. I dare say it is extremely wise to take measures to prevent a reoccurrence of the unfortunate events that led us in this direction. " Eamon towered over him, his fine clothes shimmering in the candle light. "My concern isn't for Ferelden, Alistair." He spoke gently, concern creasing his forehead. "My concern is for you. I was a young man once, and though I like to believe myself a noble one, I understand the…pull a woman can have on a man."

"You fear her influence?" Alistair furrowed his brow, utterly confused.

"Maker's breath, but you are thick boy." Eamon muttered to himself as he shook his head.

"Yeah, well, tell me something I don't know." Alistair rolled his eyes, resting his head back against the high-backed chair. Neria had always been a plague upon his already addled wits. It had only gotten worse the moment she'd decided that he wasn't a complete idiot and allowed him to kiss her. His lips warmed with the memory and he couldn't help the small smile that won out over his face. He'd been such a mess. And she'd handled the situation with a gentle teasing and even gentler encouragement. And she had become no less alluring since then.

If anything her time spent outdoors amongst the Dalish had only made her that much more alluring. Her skin had taken a pleasant tanned glow. He scanned his memory for the way her simple green robes had clung to her lithe body. She'd never been overly curvy, but her strong legs and elegant bone structure had been enough to torment his dreams night after night. He chuckled, remembering the nights he'd lay awake afraid to ease the ache thoughts of her created, less the maker strike him down for being a pervert. In those days, cold water had been his greatest ally. That is, if Wynne's disapproving looks hadn't done the trick.

_Ah, good times._ Alistair glanced down the hall to the doors Neria had just flown throw and his heart ached. She did not love him anymore. And he didn't blame her. Ending their relationship had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. Back then, he'd been new to politics. And Ferelden had been under so much unrest he was almost positive a war would break out amongst the nobles should he even dare to declare a foreign woman, who was also a mage, as his bride. Not when he'd so causally dismissed Anora, a queen very beloved by all. It would've been chaos. Not to mention, there was almost no way they would've been able to produce an heir.

"Eamon," Alistair spoke softly, "do you think I did the right thing?" Even as he asked the question, shame threatened to suffocate him. Neria had all but ripped herself away from his touch and though he couldn't blame her, and didn't, he felt…low. Being king had a way of doing that on a regular basis as he'd come to understand since he'd accepted the mantle of rulership.

"For Ferelden?" Eamon asked quietly, and then sighed. "I do, Alistair. Anora has proven herself an able queen. I no longer hold any doubt that it was she who saw to the ruling of this nation during her marriage to your brother. The people love her, and more importantly, the people love you and her together. They've all but forgiven the horrors that had surrounded the last landmeet simply because of your and Anora's ability to rule together."

Eamon's words offered little respite from the pain echoing in her heart. The Alistair Neria knew was all but gone. He stared up at the high ceilings wondering how long it would be before "Alistair" ceased to be completely. He couldn't even recognize himself in the mirror. The only time he even remotely felt like himself was when he was being lectured by the revered mother or surrounding himself with drunkards and cut throats at the local tavern.

"Alistair?"

"Hmm?"

"Perhaps, you should speak to Anora-"

"Speak to me about what?" Anora's crisp accent disturbed the relative quiet of the throne room and Eamon turned, bowing his head in respect as the queen of Ferelden strode down the aisle, clad in heavy robe, her sheer sleeping gown peeking between the lapels of the heavy material as she walked.

Alistair watched his wife's progress down the aisle, with visions of how she'd taken the very same path on their wedding day. The court had all but buzzed with excitement in the moments before her appearance, and when she'd finally appeared at the threshold of the large doors the room had fallen in an awed silence. Clad in a silk wedding dress, her sandy blonde hair resting down her back beneath a gauzy veil, she'd been a vision. Alistair had almost hated to admit just how perfectly this woman was suited for the role of queen. She was gorgeous, graceful and more cunning than any thief or assassin he'd ever seen. Well, almost. An image of Neria's face, the one she got when she was hatching a plan, one that usually involved using him as bait bloomed in his mind, and he nearly laughed.

"It seems you're in good spirits, dear husband." Anora greeted him warmly a she came to stand beside Eamon.

The observation sobered Alistair immediately and suddenly, he felt like a cad. His smile hadn't been for Anora and the knowledge that he would never say as much made him feel…dirty. But politics had all but engrained how to guard his real feelings and he offered a smile to his wife. "Your presence is always cause to be in good spirits."

Alistair didn't miss the knowing and disapproving glint in Eamon's eyes as he excused himself, bidding the monarchs a pleasant evening. Alistair resisted the urge to grimace. Maker's breath, would he never be able to escape from Eamon's all knowing, all-seeing gaze? _Probably not. Figures._ Anora and he waited in silence until Eamon left, the throne doors closing behind him.

Anora took her seat his side. "How did your meeting with your former companion go?"

Alistair slanted his wife a suspicious glance. He'd never spoke to Anora of his relationship with Neria. She'd never asked, but he did not think his affection for the other woman had escaped anyone during their time spent together before landsmeet actually took place. Maker's breath, they'd shared a room during the stay at the Arl's estate. Even if it had escaped everyone else's notice, he was positive his wife had missed nothing. She never did.

"It went as well as expected. She agreed to aid the wardens in the coming weeks as per her duty."

Anora lifted an elegant brow, "At what cost?"

_Andraste's flaming nickers, women will end me._ Alistair sighed and slouched farther into the throne. "I promised the Dalish lands of their own."

"Good." She remarked shrewdly. "That will gain you much favor amongst the second class citizens. I shall do my best to smooth the temperaments of the nobility. And I will leave the Chantry to you."

"Gee, thanks." Alistair remarked dryly, noting the sheepish smile tilting his wife's lush mouth. Anora's mouth was surely her prettiest feature. It was full and reminded him of Lelianna's pouty lips. And like Lelianna, his wife could con a miser out of his last coin. Why he had allowed himself to be surrounded with such crafty women was beyond him. He thought of Wynne and Morrigan and shook his head. Perhaps, it wasn't his choice of company. In general, it seemed women as a gender were a sly group.

The corner of Anora's mouth curved as she noticed his regard had fallen to her lips and she spoke to the few guards posted in the throne room. "Leave us."

They bowed and immediately vacated the throne room, leaving them completely and utterly alone. Alistair knew what was coming and lolled his head to the side as a mixture of relief and boredom made his limbs heavy. Yes, it was true Anora was a beautiful woman. It was also true that they'd somehow managed a tentative friendship. Sometimes he'd even contemplated what it would be like to love her as a true wife.

Those thoughts always died against the knowledge that his heart did and always would belong to another. Even if he could somehow love Anora, there was always Logain's betrayal and Anora's willingness to maintain power at any cost. He just didn't think he could trust her. Not when she'd been so willing to sacrifice them all, and she'd all but admitted that had she been made queen she would've not spared him. Not when he'd pushed so hard for her father's immediate execution. But then, was he any different? He'd done what was necessary to ensure his rule over Ferelden would be a peaceful one and he'd come to understand perhaps too late that nobility was a luxury no ruler could truly afford.

When he'd released her from the tower, it had been a show of mercy on his part. When he'd agreed to entertain an alliance, it had been for the sake of keeping his friends close and his enemies closer. When he agreed to their betrothal, it had been for the nobility. And when he'd lain with her, it had been for Ferelden. Alistair guarded a grim smile from creasing his lips. How easy it was for him to cast the blame elsewhere even as he wallowed in shame. Yes, he could blame his willingness to lie with Anora simply toward the need for an heir. But that wasn't entirely true.

Anora stood from the throne and began to undo the line of buttons of her robe. He watched from hooded eyes, giving into the inevitable. She was an attractive woman and a skilled lover, and she well knew it. He titled his head and wondered how much of his attraction to her was due to his loneliness. Maybe that's why he'd accepted the betrothal. Neria had all but sworn she'd never return to Denerim. What was he supposed to do? She hadn't wasted anytime leaving him to his fate after the final battle. None of them had.

Morrigan had left as soon as the battle had ended, though he wasn't exactly sorry to see her go. Wynne and Shale had traveled to the tevinter imperium. Zeveran had left, eager to travel and take advantage of his new freedom. Sten had returned to his people. Ogrehren had gone to Lake Callinhad to start a family. Lelianna was the only one who had stayed at court for a time, before returning to do "the maker's bidding" at a chantry in Orlais. They'd left him to his fate, and gone about their lives as though their time spent together in that camp, becoming a family of sorts, had been nothing but a blemish on in their lives. Neria's departure rivaled Morrigan's in quickness. She hadn't even said good-bye, she'd simply disappeared into her adoring public never to be seen again…until now, that is.

What did expect? They all had right to live their own lives. He couldn't hope for them to stay by his side and hold his hand forever. Frustration burned away the self-pity distracting him from the fact that Anora had all but finished the buttons, and was in the process of shrugging out of the habit. The material fell to a pool at her feet, revealing a sheer night gown. His eyes drifted down her shoulders, her pert breasts, the slope of her stomach, the thatch of hair between the apexes of her thighs, down her long legs to the sway of fabric dancing about her ankles. She truly was a vision.

Even as his body responded to her invitation, his mind drew a comparison between Neria and his wife. While his wife was courteous and dutiful in her desire to pleasure him, Neria had been wild. The passion leaping between them had all but consumed them. There had been times, they'd both become so drunk on blood-lust, so crazed and wild that they'd stopped mid-battle to kiss one another. He remembered the way the blood of their enemies had smeared across their skin as they ate at each other's mouth, moments before another wave of darkspawn had crashed down upon them. It had driven Sten to distraction, while Ogehren and Zeveran had thought the display most appropriate. He smirked. _Sick bastards._

Lust snaked down Alistair's spine and his cock thickened as a rush of adrenaline and desire so strong it was almost painful nearly made him wince. Anora closed the distance between them, coming to stand between his legs. She leaned forward, dragging her fingers up his thighs as she pressed her mouth against his. Alistair kissed her back, closing his eyes as memory after memory of Neria's frenzied kisses and murmured curses blanketed his mind.

He reached up and grabbed her waist, hauling her onto his lap. She straddled him and deepened their kiss, holding his face gently between her hands. Alistair squeezed his eyes shut tighter as Anora's tongue teased his. This wasn't Neria. Anora would never be able to set him aflame the way she had. He'd never burned for another woman the way he had for Neria. But this was his lot in life. These were his consequences to bear and though he knew he would hate himself later, he gave into it.

Anora reached between them and unfastened his trousers as he cupped and squeezed her breasts. This was a match made in the maker's eyes. His wife craved power and he craved distraction. They were a fitting couple. Within minutes, Anora seated herself on his cock and he let out a harsh breath, clinging to the faint memories of a passion he would never feel again. _I'm a bad, bad man._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's note:<strong>_ Now, I know Alistair doesn't seem nearly as loopy as he did in the game, but I think ruling would've hardened him somewhat. Never fear though, I intend to keep him as "in-character" as I can through this story. What do we think of Anora? I think I kept her IC, considering we didn't get to know her very well aside from the fact that she's a bit of a treacherous bitch.

_**Special Thanks**__:_ Thank you for the comment, Judy. I'd already written this chapter but I didn't want to post it if the first one didn't peak interest. I'm glad you liked it and I hope you get an account so I may PM you from time to time for ideas.


	3. Ch3: Princes and Paupers

_**Chapter Three: Princes and Paupers**_

She definitely needed boots.

Her trek through Denerim had convinced her of it. Neria wandered to the merchants set up in a circle in the middle of the market district. Nothing had changed much, though there seemed to be more dwarven merchants about; a result of King Behlen's firm decision to force his people into the new age, no doubt. A pair of soft leather boots caught her attention and she drew near the table, dragging her fingers across the leather.

"Those boots are a mockery." A familiar buoyant accent tickled her eyes, and she couldn't help the grin that spread across her face.

Neria turned, happy to find Zeveran standing at her side, his eyes bright with mischief. Clad in light armor, armed with a pair of dangers, he cut an impressive figure in the soft morning sun-light. His mouth parted into a goofy smile, and within minutes she'd thrown her arms around him. Suddenly, she didn't feel so alone. He hugged her back, warmly.

When she pulled away, the shock of his presence still hadn't worn off. Much like Alistair, he hadn't changed too much since she'd seen him last. His hair had grown out, past his shoulders and was allowed to dance freely with the passing summer breeze. He was still as handsome and roguish as ever. In addition to his usual get-up, he had a small pack slung over his back and Neria tried to temper down the hope that Alistair had summoned him to aid them.

"What are you doing here?" She arched a brow, taking note of their surroundings. "Better yet, who are you running from?"

Zeveran laughed, clasping his hands behind his back. "I am rather popular, yes?"

"Popular, indeed." She teased as the merchant eyed them with barely restrained impatience. She untied the coin purse from her girdle and fished out the appropriate sum.

"Tell me you're not seriously going to buy those." Zeveran let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm sure we can find a suitable pair of Antivan leather boots somewhere in this market."

Neria rolled her eyes. He was almost as bad as Lelianna when it came to footwear. The merchant cast him a hard look, and Zeveran backed up from the table, apparently having been reminded that dwarves were not the forgiving sort and they certainly didn't look kindly on negative feedback about their "direct from Orzammar" wares. Quickly, Neria paid for the boots and plucked them from the table, eager to escape the tense situation, less she have to torch some dwarven ass right here in the middle of the market. She was in no mood to be the center of attention, and Zeveran was like Ogerhern. Wherever they went his mouth seemed to bring about trouble.

When they'd put some distance between the merchant's set-up, they paused. Zeveran chuckled as she handed him her staff.

"And here I thought the Dalish had little need for boots. Antivan or otherwise." He observed as his leering gaze traveled across her scant robes.

_Men_. Sighing, Neria maintained a precarious balance as she pulled one boot on and then the other. "Yes, well, the Dalish rarely have to trek through the filthy streets of Denerim." She wrinkled her nose at the memory of almost stepping in a pile of horse manure on her way to market district.

"Ah yes," Zeveran sniffed with appreciation, "Denerim is no Antiva, but it is pleasantly similar."

"If you say so," Neria agreed dryly as she wiggled her toes, trying to reacquaint herself with the sensation of wearing shoes. "Really, Zeveran, what brings you to Denerim?"

He handed her the staff back and slanted her a knowing-look. "The same thing that brings you out of the forest, I suspect. I received a summons from Alistair and I figured, "he shrugged, "why not? I wasn't doing anything important."

Relief flooded through her. Had it been just her and Alistair, she wasn't sure she would've been able to go through with it. Zeveran was certainly a welcome addition.

"Shall we?" Zeveran offered his arm. "I am sure you have business to attend to and I am no hurry to get to the palace."

"No?" She arched a brow, even as she smiled and accepted his arm. "I would think you would be plenty hury to occupy yourself with the chamber maids running amok the palace."

"Ah, but you know me so well." He laughed, the sound loud and joyful. His apparent ability to find light in any situation was one the things she admired most about him. He was a vagabond, who seemed perfectly at peace with his lot in life. That easy acceptance and odd note of uncompromising honesty was probably the reason she'd spared him so many years ago when he'd failed to asassinate her. His gay twittering had been a welcome distraction from their drab circumstances back then. It still was. She already felt better having him at her side.

As they made their way toward the elven alienage, they spoke of his time abroad and how he'd managed to come into ownership of his very own shop, artfully leaving out the any "shady" circumstances that might have been involved in such an exchange. He boasted about the fine quality of the shoes and leather armor his shop sold, lamenting that he was forced to manage the shop from afar for fear the crows would ruin his investment or try to kill him...yet again. They also spoke of her time amongst the Dalish and he even made mention of perhaps traveling with the people for a time, expressing plans to seek out the Dalish clan traveling somewhere up Sundermount, a mountain the Dalish people visited often. If memory served her it was somewhere in the Free Marches, close to Kirkwall. Perhaps, she'd take her people there to honor their ancestors in the near future.

Their excitement dimmed somewhat as they entered the alienage. Though Zeveran was well accustomed to the low quality of life their people endured as second-class citizens in Ferelden, she knew there was a small part of him that was bothered by it. He would never say as much. He was too intent of steering clear of misery's clutches for that kind of deep thought, but Neria could see it echoing behind his gaze. She understood his desire to live as he did. And she knew, though he claimed to be content with his past, that the circumstances surrounding his mother's death and his childhood were dark clouds he desperately tried to outrun.

Neria smiled as the people tipped their heads and took a knee before her as they made their way to the massive tree in the center of the district. As a keeper, she was someone special to them; a spiritual leader they were compelled to respect even if they didn't all understand why. _Soon_. She promised them as she walked amongst them, accepting their warm greeting. _Soon, you will have a land of your own. _

She glanced over their shabby houses and clothes, their thin faces and searched for the beauty she knew could be found amongst even the ugliest ruins. Shianni and a few others had planted a smattering of flowers amongst the new vetegable gardens and they'd bloomed in the summer sun. Some of the shrubs were even in the process of growing up over the houses, effectively adorning the structures with a measure of beauty. Neria spotted Shianni, kneeling next in a bushel of flowers, a basket of fresh vegetables at her side.

Shianna had undertaken the momentous task of making this alienage a home for their people and Neria's heart swelled with pride. The vegetable gardens and the flowers were just the beginning of a new age for the elven people in Ferelden; Neria, along with Shianni and few determined others, would make sure of it.

Zeveran let out a low chuckle, dragging Neria's attention from Shianni. His gaze was lingering on a woman, who was bent over in the process of picking up fresh laundry to hang on a clothes line. Neria arched her brow as she took note of how when the girl bent forward, the neckline of her ill-fitting dress offered a clear view of her breasts. Neria rolled her eyes. _The Gods, he's incorrigible. _Almost as though Zeveran could feel her censure, he peeked at from the corner of his eye. He stuck out his bottom lip and Neria lost against the urge to smile. She nodded and he grinned and took off toward the young woman. Neria arched a row and sighed. _The Gods help them both. _

Neria returned her attention to Shianni, who let out a harsh curse. She appeared to be arguing, however one-sided it was, with a rose bush. Neria glanced at her staff and closed the distance between them. Kneeling at Shianni's side, she covered Shianni's hand with her own. The other woman started, her eyes widening as she looked to her side. Neria offered her a warm smile and guided her hand deep into the soil. Pulling from her connection to the Beyond, she sent a fuse of energy through their hands. Amazement and awe dawned on Shianna's face, softening the stubborn set in her jaw as the rose bush matured and flowered. Her eyes glistened and Neria's heart swelled with pleasure. Magic was a useful tool, but it was especially handy when it came to stubborn rose bushes.

Shianni blinked back a few tears, her entire body shuddering with what seemed like relief. Neria squeezed her hand, understanding how difficult it was to swim against a harsh current. Neria understood how hard it was for Shianni to lead her people when so many seemed content to continue living in oppression. They resisted the perilous journey toward freedom out of fear. Neria knew that better than most. She'd been content to stay locked in the tower, she hadn't understood Jowan's desire to be freed until much later. Had she known then what she did now, she wouldn't have betrayed him to the First Enchanter. She would've done everything in her power to see him and Lily freed. Perhaps, had she done so, he would still be alive.

Regret washed over her and she sent a prayer to whichever God Jowan had called his own as she sat with Shianni in silence, staring at the rose bush, allowing its beauty to soothe the harsh pain of the many mistakes she'd made, much in the same way it seemed to soothe Shianni's fear that her people would never have something of their own.

"I'm so glad you're here." Shianni finally spoke, swatting away the tears escaping down her cheeks.

Neria couldn't help it; she pulled the other woman into a hug, holding her close to her heart. They embraced and finally parted when it became apparent they were no longer alone. A few children had edged toward the garden, drawn in by the shimmering red petals of the roses. A small girl touched her finger tentatively to a delicate petal, as though she was afraid the dirt staining her fingers would mar it in some way.

_Nonsense_. Neria plucked the bloom and smiled at the girl's slack expression. She made sure there were no thorns on the stem and then slid it against her hair, to rest between her ear and her head. The young girl reached up, her hand hovering over the new hair accessory. A few other young elven girls looked on longingly, and Neria decided that they would all be princesses of old if only for today. Sending a surge of power through the ground, she murmured the simple spell even as her connection with the earth soothed her to the point where she thought she might fall asleep where she sat. A throng of rose bushes sprouted up from the ground, until they were practically overtaking the wooden fence.

Murmurs from the crowd her show of power had drawn erupted into praise and the air buzzed with a simple but contagious happiness. When it was finished, Neria let out a breath as weariness brushed its fingertips across her. It had been a while since she'd used so much power at one time. She might need to brush up on her casting before her and Alistair left for Amaranthine. Darkspawn weren't nearly as delicate as roses. She sighed, but smiled as she noted the glow lightening up the peoples' faces.

"Come," Shianni beckoned another girl closer as she plucked another bloom. Within moments, every little girl had a flower in hair. When the children had finally gone back to playing amongst themselves, Shianni gathered her basket and stood, motioning in the general direction of her house. "Come, let us break bread and talk."

"Of course," Neria scanned her surroundings for Zeveran. He was nowhere to be found. And neither was the lass who'd been attending her laundry before. Neria's lips creased in a wry smile. Knowing Zeveran, he'd probably whisked her off to an alley-way so they could engage in unmentionables. _I swear I can't take him anywhere._ Standing, she brushed the dirt off of her knees. The two women started toward Shianni's house, walking alongside one another.

"Has there been any news of the elves that were taken to Tevinter?"

"No, no word as of yet. We've sent missives to a few other slavers, with their names and descriptions. The last few we tried weren't able to help." Shianni sighed heavily. "Sometimes I wonder whether they're truly gone. I wonder whether it is truly wise to pour more coin into finding them."

"You needn't worry about that," Neria offered softly. "If you need more, I have some to spare. I am the Hero of Ferelden. And though I am not wealthy by any means, I have no problem donating to this cause."

Shianni nodded and offered sad smile. "I know, but it's been two years. And I'm starting to think that coin could better be served in buying better medical equipment for the hospice."

The plague had all but ended, but there were still distributing remnants. Since then, Shianni had organized a public service group, who worked to keep the alienage clean in return for a small stipend of food and clothing. Since Alistair had taken over the rule of Ferelden he'd increased the sum of monies allotted to alienage's, but after so many years of doing without it didn't seem enough. Neria made a mental note to bring it up the next she had an audience with Alistair, which she hoped wouldn't be too soon. Their meeting last night had left her with horrible nightmares and she'd nearly cried herself to sleep after a particularly cruel trip to the Fade.

Neria's mind worked to come up with some sort of lasting solution and she wondered, albeit begrudgingly, if Anora would be better suited to entertain such requests. It was no secret that although she and Alistair ruled jointly, she was in charge of domestic issues, while Alistair handled foreign policy. Neria made a face of disgust. _I hate that woman. _She glanced at Shianni and sucked in a resigned breath. If speaking to Anora about such matter made a difference for the people of the alienage, then she supposed she could endure it. Though she wouldn't promise not to set the twit ablaze should she let her tongue wag about matters she had no business talking about. Chief amongst those sore topics was Neria's failed relationship with Alistair. She had no doubt the time would come when Anora would seek to confront her about it, but Neria refused to let that time be now. It was still too…fresh.

Neria wondered quietly in the private depths of her heart whether that time, a time when she could talk of such unfortunate things without crumbling in pain, would ever come. Would she ever stop loving him? Neria stared down at the ground. _Gods, please let it be. _

"Stop right there, apostate!" A voice boomed behind her, and Shianni whirled around.

Neria, on the other hand, gritted her teeth as a bolt of rage threatened to send her into a battle frenzy. The alienage slowed to a pause, the people edging back in fear from the Templars.

"She is no apostate!" Shianni yelled back, her grip tensing around her basket of produce.

"Silence, you knife-eared bitch! This is none of your concern!"

_Gods grant me patience._ Though rage sung a flaming song beneath her skin, Neria reached for calm and turned, facing trio of well-equipped Templars. This was neither the time or place for a fight to erupt between her and couple of close-minded shemlens. She wouldn't risk a confrontation while they were standing in the heart of the alienage. For the Gods' sakes, there was children running about.

Shianni's face reddened as her frame shook with rage. "How dare-"

Neria raised her hand to silence Shianni. The woman didn't need to draw any more negative attention from the authorities in Denerim. True, Neria could dispatch this lot without so much as breaking a sweat, but she couldn't account for what would happen once she left the city in favor for the forests again. She didn't want to place Shianni in hot water, not when she couldn't say for sure she'd be around to protect her from later retribution. Instead, she spoke softly to Shianni. "See the streets cleared, just in case."

"You can't possibly mean to go with them." Shianni whispered harshly, taking Neria's sign of surrender as a betrayal against the very cause they'd been working for since the blight ended.

"Trust me, Shianni." Neria urged. "Get yourself and our people to safety. I will deal with this."

Neria didn't miss the hard look in Shianni's eyes as she gestured for her people to take cover. In moments, the streets fell silent, the laughter of children and the bustle of everyday life disappearing behind the thick tension dancing between Neria and the trio of Templars.

The lead Templar gripped the hilt of his sword. "What is it going to be, apostate? Will you come willingly or will we have to drag you out of here?"

A glint of metal caught the corner of her eye and Neria glanced to her side, noting Zeveran's figure moving in the shadows of a nearby alley-way. She shook her head subtly in attempt to ward off his idea of a rescue. Even as powerful and elevated as she was, she did not think she'd escape punishment if she participated in slaying any of the Chantry's coveted Templars. Neria hoped he'd understood her meaning and turned her attention to the lead Templar. "I will leave with you, but I will warn you right now, I will not be taken to a circle. If you must escort me somewhere, it will be to the royal palace, where I am staying as a guest of King Alistair's. I am no apostate. I am a Grey Warden, and I am the Hero of Ferelden." She spoke evenly, hoping her silver tongue wouldn't fail her now.

"Ha! If you think I'm so thick as to believe that bullshit, you're mistaken!" He fired back, drawing his blade in one graceful movement.

Neria's muscles tensed as a familiar focus sharpened her gaze. She squeezed her staff experimentally. Though she did not wish to rob these men of their lives, she couldn't deny the grim pleasure she'd derive from an ensuing battle, though by the looks of them it would be a short one.

"What on earth is going on here?" Another voice interrupted the foray, and the Templars parted to reveal another yet another of their comrades.

The lead Templar lowered his blade and they straightened to attention out of respect for the newcomer's elevated rank. The Templar reached up and removed his helm. Neria froze, afraid her eyes were playing tricks upon her.

"Neria?" His eyes widened as he regarded her, going slack jaw as though he too doubted his own eyes.

She blinked and stupidly answered. "Cullen?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note:<strong>_ M'kay, I've been thinking about it and I think I shall bring Cullen back as you doubt have noticed. And true to a reviewer's remark that Cullen does leave for Kirkwall at some point, I don't think I'll be able to keep him in the story as a possible love interest. For now, he's simply a pleasant distraction for our mage. Perhaps, that's all he'll be.

Also, there was a mention that I have some 'yuri' pairings in the story and I think that is totally do-able. I don't mind writing some smutt simply for the sake of happy sighs. I can't make any promises, but I'm definitely willing to experiment. As far as the mention that perhaps, the mage end up with an OC, I'm not sure I could do that and keep true to the characters. It might become an option later on if I find that none of the original cast are a suitable prince (or princess) charming.

Anyways, 'till next time! Please leave me reviews, etc. I'm trying to work on incorporating reader-feedback into my stories. I mean it is "my" story, but what's the point in writing a story no one wants to read. :-]


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